Fate, in the hand of men
- a Heroes story -
Author: ryuosen
Artist: davincis_girl
written for heroes_bigboom at lj
Genre: Action, Drama, Angst, Scifi, Het, Slash
Rating: R for violence, rape, language, sexual themes,
Wordcount: ~ 40000
Summary:
Everything changed with Claire's dive off the Ferris Wheel, just not for the better. When life became unbearable, there was no choice but to rebel. Yet for all their power, they're still losing. With their last chance, Peter, the right man for the job, used Hiro's power to stop Claire from ever taking the dive. Pity that he got himself killed beforehand, leaving Sylar with the task. Pity that he died too...
Notes:A big thank you to Ayou for listening to my ideas, whining and for kicking my ass, when it was necessary and to davincis_girl for the beautiful cover and the awesome fanmix booklet. Thanks a lot. It was great to work with you! A link to the artwork can be found in my profile under the story, along with the fanmix.
The story is complete with a prologue, 6 chapters, epilogue and will be updated every Wednesday.
Comments/critics are appreciated!
Chapter 1
New York, 2012
The year was nearing its end. December had broken over New York with a wave of unprecedented cold temperatures. The degrees tumbled past zero, into negativity faster than the weather cast could foretell them. Thick patches of snow covered the ground. For Peter it felt like an omen. A bad one.
It had been the worst year for the specials so far, real bad. He didn't know how long he could keep going. The anniversary of Claire's kidnapping had been yesterday and the mood among the specials had hit an all time low.
With each laws passed their movements were more and more restricted and in turn their freedom. Yesterday the state of New York had passed one that banned specials from living in every area but the Bronx to "ensure the safety and well-being of the less privileged people of our society". Because that they were classified as: "privileged people". They were made out to be something real special. As if they were something better than the rest of society. Still the government was successful with their propaganda.
Normal people feared them, especially those with a bracelet darker than white. He still had his own. Despite his fears they hadn't discovered that he had another power than the one he had claimed as his own.
Still the tests continued.
His nerves were stretched thin. He went to the appointments and endured whatever was being done to him only to come back more frayed, a little more destroyed. Emma was worried, had tried to talk to him numerous times by now and he always brushed her off. Hurting her but couldn't bring himself to care. Not when he was curling up under the cold spray of his shower once a month, trying desperately to drown himself. At least until rationality kicked in and he forced himself to bed.
Peter had always believed that humanity was worth saving.
Now he knew what doubt was.
Fiddling with the hem of his coat he watched a young woman. Her black hair was covered in white, the snowflakes melting before she could shake them off. She was short and apparently of Asian origin, her almond shaped eyes twinkling merrily. At the moment she was crouching in front of two children offering them something under the wary gazes of their parents.
Almost automatically his eyes drifted towards her wrist where a coding bracelet had to be worn. However her wrist was bare. Good for her. Being special had become more of a curse than a blessing. The pride in his ability had long since diminished. Now he just wished that his ability would vanish again.
Impossible he knew, but he contemplated the thoughts more and more.
What would it be like to be normal now?
A futile hope, he would never be normal again. Now he was special and would have to see it through. Peter couldn't allow himself to be like so many other specials who had taken the easy way and committed suicide. Too many were still depending on him and his will to fight.
"A fortune cookie for you? It might cheer you up."
Snapping his head up, almost giving himself a whiplash, Peter met the amused gaze of the Asian woman he had seen with the children. In her hands, bare, was a small cookie Peter knew all too well from his favorite Chinese restaurant. The dough tasted mostly like nothing and in it would be some empty slogan about his future.
"No thank you, I don't think I want to know what the future might have in store for me."
He could see as her gaze slid down to his arm, where the white bracelet was snug around his wrist. Surprisingly her face stayed devoid of the disgust he had expected or fear. Instead she looked contemplative now. Like she was thinking of something. Then she was crouching in front of him, quite a bit below his eye level forcing him to lean forward. Wary he watched her. Not necessarily out of fear, he could defend himself should she attack him but the repercussions.
Laws were after all not in favor of specials right now.
"Then you should really take it. You might find something special."
Her hands cupped his, before the cookie was placed on his outstretched palm. Her fingers lingered briefly, almost a caress before closing his hand and pulling away. Puzzled Peter watched her leave, stopping in front of another pedestrian and offering him a cookie. The sentence had been quite cryptic, but that wasn't what had his attention. No, something tingled at the back of his head.
Familiarity
As if he knew the woman but that was all but impossible. He wasn't a shallow person but he would have remembered having met such a beautiful woman. But if it wasn't the face, then what was it?
Cracking the cookie open, he swallowed the first half before pulling the small slip of paper out. Reading the sentence Peter was confused and frowned. It wasn't a sentence at all, but an address. An address belonging to a tattoo studio in Queens.
Raising an eyebrow in question, he turned the paper around, wondering if this was a mistake of the company producing the cookie. Then he froze.
It wasn't...
There written in a fine neat and very familiar penmanship was something Peter never expected to hear, read or see again.
Turns out you're the villain, Peter. I'm the hero.
The rest of the cookie was crushed in his fist and ended up on the ground. But Peter didn't pay any attention to it. His mind was frozen, the sentence echoing in his head over and over again. Abruptly he remembered what had bothered him about the woman. In his mind he saw her cupping his hand and placing the cookie in his palm. There it was the detail that had bothered him.
The watch!
Around her wrist, hadn't been a bracelet but a watch. A man's watch with a cracked glass and a familiar brand printed on the face.
Sylar
He almost jumped off the bench in surprise as realization sunk in. The woman had to have been Sylar. There was no other possibility. Or course, now the cryptic message made sense. The other was a shapeshifter. Assuming the identity of someone else was child's play for him. With no one being the wiser.
A small laugh escaped him at the thought of Sylar turning into a woman before he sobered up again. Finally Sylar had initiated contact. While Peter wouldn't have chosen a tattoo studio for the meeting he wouldn't complain. He longed to see another familiar face besides Emma, who wouldn't tiptoe around him like he was something fragile. Most specials treated him like that nowadays, afraid that offending him would worsen their situation. As if he had any influence on the government at all.
Almost a hundred percent of his friends had vanished shortly after Claire's fall. Not nearly as optimistic as he had been. Emma being a rare exception. She hadn't given up as her application to medical school had been denied because of her ability, but continued her work at the hospital. More often than not offering him a kind word or encouraging him when it threatened to become too much.
But now, now there might be a chance that things would look up for him again. All he had to do was find out where that studio was. Peter felt like he had been rejuvenated, like he had Mohinder's strength again and could hurl trees about. Calculating the time he needed to reach Queens he frowned in disappointment. He wouldn't make it tonight before the shops would close.
Tomorrow then.
New York, 2006
It was a routine day for Emma Coolige as she sat in one of the long-term patients' room and did her filing for the day. Humming a small thoughtless tune her ball pen danced over the papers, ink forming letters and words. A brief check and she was done with this one too. Putting the file aside, she spared a glance at the patient in the bed to her right. Ever since her colleague Mindy had started working on the same shift as her, Emma was unable to do her work in the filing room. The pitying glances and comments from Mindy made staying in the same room a hardship.
Working there? Impossible!
She was deaf, not dumb. However Mindy seemed to think that both went hand in hand. The discriminating comments and pitying glances spoke volumes that Emma understood without needing hearing. It also helped that she had learned to read lips at a young age. While she was normally not a violent person, some of those comments, made her angry enough that she was tempted to try and use her power against the woman. Something she had never thought about prior meeting Mindy. Not even to amuse the public as Samuel did with his carnival.
Yet, after the sixth comment which had nearly made her cry, Emma had actually contemplated what that bitch would say when her next comment would cause the ceiling to cave in. Though as soon as she had finished the thought she had chastised herself. Firstly she didn't have that kind of control over her power and secondly she had sworn to never hurt a human being with it. Mindy Duvall wouldn't change that. She wouldn't.
Consequence had been that she had taken to inhabit the rooms of long term patients to do her paperwork. She avoided Mindy and the filing room. Thus she had ended up here, a sterile white room in a most deserted part of the free clinic. Even though most long term patients were also coma patients, they often still had relatives who visited.
Well, except for the occupant of this very room. In the seventeen years he had been sleeping here, no one had ever visited him, save for the doctors and nurses responsible for him. She had asked them after she had used the room for the first time. Emma found it to be sad, everyone should have someone to keep you company. So she did it. When she had filing to do, she would do it in his room, while talking about her day, her colleagues and every other subject under the sun that came to mind. Of course he didn't react, he never did. But she believed firmly that he could hear her, when she sat at his bedside and talked about the newest discovery in science or her cello practice.
While she never spoke about family, Emma had actually one day broached the subject of her special power.
The young man, she didn't even know his name, had of course been silent throughout her confession, her worries and fears, but she had definitely felt better afterwards. She hadn't been judged and had for once been free to tell everything and nothing, at her own pace.
It had been a liberating experience.
The sound of her pager going off made her look up. Glancing at the display, she smiled. She had forgotten the time again and Nina was calling her to remind her to take a break. Closing the folder she took one look at the clock hanging above the door told her that Nina was right and she was due for her break. Standing she stretched briefly, before giving the young man one last look. Yesterday she had promised to tell him about the play she had seen the same evening.
Turning around she put the chair back in position and swept her files up. Even if the young man never did get visitors, she wouldn't risk it that somebody not privy to the information could get the chance to read them. One last customary sweep over the room showed nothing out of the ordinary as Emma set to leave. Therefore she was unprepared as something cold clamped around her own wrist. Like a whiplash she faced the bed and stared into brown eyes.
Emma screamed!
San Francisco, 2015
He did it!
Sacking against a jagged stone structure, he sighed in relief. He had managed it. Now they had a real chance of turning the battle in their favor. All he had to do was get out of the range of their dampening machines and meet up with the others. Then retreating and giving them hell by the means of the ability he just had acquired.
Yes, that they would do.
A sound and before his eyes were even fully open a body sacked to the ground, hitting the dirt with squelching noise. Emotionless he stared at the corpse, not even yet cooling. Years ago he would have felt guilt for what he just did, agony even. Then again, years ago he had been tied to humanity in one of the most unique ways that were possible and after the connection was severed he had never regained the intimacy this connection had afforded him, neither the understanding or the ability to forgive almost any offense. The hand holding the gun was steady, while he looked around for more threats. They were none.
Years ago?
He had been young then and naïve, but that would be Sylar speaking. Hell the other still called him naïve, even though his hands were just as stained with blood and death as his own. Still there was difference, Sylar insisted on and stuck to that opinion as religiously as to the little family he now called his own. Once you had earned Sylar's loyalty, he would protect you with everything he had.
Family?
There wasn't much left of it, at least blood related wise. Nathan had died, no been murdered by Sylar years before their lives went down the drain. His da.. Arthur even earlier, also killed by Sylar. His ma? Her curtain had fallen just like she would have wanted. Even more important her last breath had been the key to their solution. Angela Petrelli had died after sleeping for six months. During that time she had dreamed of the most accurate futuristic premonition, she could receive.
It had cost her life.
At age 70 she had been laying on her bed in the dark shelter they had found and secured for her. Then they had left her to sleep, never visiting, with Matt Parkman being the only one aware of her location aside from Peter himself. It had been his task to check up on Angela every few weeks and change the drips that kept her alive. How she had managed to sleep naturally for six months was something no one could explain but Angela had done it.
He had known when she had woken, despite having no power to tell him. Still, Peter had known, discarded everything and left immediately for the hideout.
She had been in the same position as they had left her, with the head on a stark white pillow, a sheet covering her thin frame with her hands folded on top. Her body, despite the liquid drips, that had kept her fed during the months she had spent dreaming, had withered away and making her appear nearly skeletal, especially her head with the eyes sunken in, skin stretched tightly over her skull and her once black hair nearly a translucent white. But he hadn't cared.
Silently kneeling down next to her, Peter had gently grasped one of her thin bony hands and waited somewhat impatiently for his mother to awaken.
Not even a minute later her eyes had snapped open, her tired gaze meeting his own hurried one. His mother had been one of their last hopes, without another precog they were nearly powerless against their opponents who sniffed them out as soon as they left their shelters. And they couldn't rely on Micah to shroud them on every opportunity, he already did enough.
"I knew you would come Peter, I dreamed it."
His breath escaped him in an audible whoosh and the knot inside his chest loosened. If she had known that it would be him being here instead of Parkman, than she might have dreamed of a solution too. But he wouldn't get his hopes up, yet.
"Do you want some water."
Parkman had placed a pitcher near the bed and a glass. Clearly he had also anticipated Angela's awakening. Filling the glass, he supported her frail form as she drank. Only a few gulps and she turned her head away. Setting the glass down Peter realized what his heart had already known as he had watched his mother's eyes opening.
These would be their last moments together.
He should have known right away. He had been a nurse once and caring for the elderly had been the career he had chosen, regardless of how much his parents had bitched about it. During that time he had met people, cared for them and even accompanied them in their last hours. Yet, he hadn't noticed that his mother, his frail thin mother, who had slept for half a year, had been fed by the means of drips and nutritional liquids, was dieing.
And he had only come because he wanted to know how to change their fate.
His head bowed without conscious thought as shame filled him. Another side-effect of his lost empathy. Where he could once tell what people were feeling, there was now a bleeding wound inside his heart. Even more so long after the existence of special had been revealed to the world. Something that couldn't be cured by a formula or any powers he took up. On cue he had felt the flare of Claire, her healing resting inside himself, connecting them in ways no blood bond could. It calmed him somewhat.
Then he felt, fingers at his face had lifted his head. Fingertips were gently touching the scar that marked his face before wiping his tears away, like she had always done when he had been little. Tears? When had he started crying? When was the last time he had cried in front of someone?
"It's alright, I know."
The hand left his face and Peter could see that the whole action had cost his ma precious strength. He caught it between his own, his calloused fingertips caressing her skin. He didn't want her to die. Yet there was nothing he could do, his blood even with Claire's ability didn't hold the same regenerative abilities. There was nothing he could do.
"You'll last two more years and on May 16th you'll open fire on a tall grey building with a glass front..."
Angela coughed and Peter watched with fear as fine red dots appeared on the white sheets. Dropping her hand he offered her more sips to soothe her throat, not that it would be much help. Ignoring her frown he pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and carefully cleaned her face. Putting the stained fabric away he made note to burn it at the earliest possibility.
".. in … San Francisco... you'll find Nakamura there... take his... back … dieing... key...acce..."
More blood trailed down the pale chin, now from lips and nose. Peter knew this was the end, but he couldn't seem to find any words that conveyed what he feeling. Talking had always been Nathan's forte anyway, so he settled for clasping her hand and holding her in a gentle embrace. Angela's breathing grew short and sounded more like rasping. Her fingers clenched around his before growing slack. Her eyes fluttered and closed.
Her breathing stopped and everything was quiet.
Peter stared numbly at his mother, in death more relaxed than ever in life, before arranging her hands on her stomach and lowering her back onto the bed. Using his handkerchief he cleaned the bloodstains from her mouth and chin before putting the pitcher and glass away. Only as someone touched his shoulder, did he react and nearly put a bullet through Parkman's brain and he would have, hadn't had the older man the foresight to render that thought useless. All his arm did was twitch as he wanted to reach for his weapon.
"She's gone."
It wasn't a question and Peter only nodded along. His gaze still rested on his mother, arms wrapped around himself. Matt wanted to comfort the younger man, but refrained. Rumors about of Peter's aversion to casual touch had spread fast through the ranks of his old friends and acquaintances who still remembered him with this empathy. They respected his wishes, had no choice but to. The one time Claire had touched Peter without his express permission she had actually taken over ten minutes to revive. Afterwards no one wanted to get on his bad side.
"I don't want to be disrespectful..."
"They are coming, aren't they?"
Parkman nodded, of course, Peter couldn't see it, having his back turned to the telepath. His hand slid into the inner coat pocket and he withdrew a small syringe. Mohinder had started to distribute those three years ago, when one of their spies had found out that the bodies of specials were used for experiments after the army got their hands on them. It had explained their defense mechanisms pretty quick, their knowledge of their own weaknesses.
The formula inside the syringe ensured that the body decomposed with enhanced speed and left nothing behind for the scientists to work with, especially not the brain. It was bad enough when they had been experimenting on them while they were alive. None would tolerate it after death, after they had died for their cause.
He saw Peter uncapping the needle and step forward, arm raised, only to see him lower it a fraction later. When he spoke his voice sounded frail, broken even and Parkman had no need to read his thoughts to know. With a decisive movement he took the syringe from the former empath's hand as he spoke...
"I can't!"
And really he wouldn't wish the task of having to destroy your own relatives' body on even his worst enemy. In death the specials and humans were all the same, sadly the humans didn't realize it. The only thing they saw was a threat to their safety because they lacked the understanding and when they gained understanding they liked what they saw even less. Otherwise it might never have come to war. Or that strong people, like Peter, were suddenly nothing more than shadows of their past selves.
Sinking the needle into the skin above the heart, he mused that it was very pointless to philosophize about it. History had already been decided and without Nakamura they had no chance to rewrite it.
Hiro Nakamura had been one of the first specials they had kidnapped and imprisoned after discovering his file in the remains of the Primatech or Company network. To the day they had been unable to figure out how they had blocked the man's ability, but Mohinder had theorized that they had exerted pressure on the same spot in his brain which had once been covered by the tumor, that had threatened his life. However without finding the man, they would also never know.
The clear liquid sloshed and then the syringe was empty and Matt put it back into his back pocket. They couldn't risk leaving anything salvageable behind least of all Mohinder's precious syringes. It wasn't as if they had resources in abundance.
"You done?"
"Yes, let's set this place on fire and get the hell out of here. With any luck it might also throw them also off our trail for a while."
Luckily they rigged all their places with explosives before moving in and setting the timer was all that needed to be done now. During all Peter avoided looking at his mother's body. Something Matt couldn't fault him for. He certainly didn't want to see his mother decompose in front of him. The stench of rotting was bad enough.
At last they stood before the small hideout Angela Petrelli had inhabited during her last six month. While faith had left Peter years ago, he nonetheless made a cross and prayed briefly for his mother's soul, before lifting the control for the timer. Pressing the button they ran until they were way out of range. Behind them a booming noise signaled that the fuze had gone off without a hitch and that now nothing could connect them to the place.
It was done.
Opening one of the entrances to the sewers, Matt had his gun raised, watching their surroundings as Peter slipped down. Covering the opening he ran into another direction before vanishing into the canalization himself. He knew he wouldn't see Peter for another two months. Only because the leaders of the groups couldn't risk being meeting more often, with the thorough sweeps by the Homeland the risk of discovery of their meeting place was far too high.
No, the less often they met, the safer they were.
And now they had at least a hint at what to do. He had read it in Peter's mind. Angela Petrelli would be forever remembered by the specials that her sacrifice would safe, however in the same moment she would be forgotten. Her sacrifice lost in the mists of the ever changing timeline. Peter would make sure of it.
1. Last two more years. That meant to May 2015.
2. Find that building in San Francisco, Nakamura will be there.
3. Have Peter save Nakamura and take his ability
4. Travel back in time to stop Claire from ever revealing their existence.
Matt snorted. Right, easier said than done. Logically speaking he should inform Sylar immediately and have him ensure that Peter wouldn't part with Claire's powers anymore until it was time for him to take Hiro's. Fat chance of that happening. He was sure that even Sylar, one of the people closest to Peter wouldn't be able to make him stay behind the front-lines. The old Peter might have, but the new one?
Yeah right! They both would never stand for it.
Matt could only hope as Peter's thoughts grew quieter and quieter that he wouldn't do anything stupid until their time had come. Feeling Peter's thoughts abruptly cut off, he froze... a patrol! How had they known... running Matt jumped into the dirty water, hand already hitting speed-dial for Micah. The special needed to blanket the area immediately. As in now, otherwise he would be discovered any minute. He could feel as his heart beat jumped up, adrenaline kicking in and he ran, desperate to get out off the machines ranges.
Chances of them catching up were slim as long as Micah could block their equipment... he didn't want to think of the alternative. Yet instinctively his tongue pressed against the hollow tooth inside his mouth. Should the worst happen, he was prepared to do what was necessary to ensure the success of Peter's mission. Blindly typing Angela's dream in the cell phone, while running Matt strained his brain to hear any thoughts.
Silence..
Behind him, one of the lids was lifted and he only sped up. Something that would have been impossible during his days on the force. Thinking of his son and pregnant wife enabling him to run even faster.
Only to collide nearly with another body, a small breach in the blocking field warned him and not a moment too soon. Letting a small grenade fall, he threw himself forward bypassing the agent. Rolling over his shoulder he was back on his feet, zig-zaging over the small paths to avoid the bullets. He would have to take a new route now.
Then the grenade exploded and the agent was no more. Matt was relieved but didn't slow down. There was no telling how many agents had entered the sewers and he dearly hoped that Peter had managed to get away before they had located him.
They couldn't fail, they just couldn't! With his thumb he hit the send button.
It had been the last time Peter had seen Matt Parkman. Homeland security had caught up with him eventually. But before they could apprehend him, he had swallowed the poison capsule, which most of their agents carried in their teeth nowadays. Parkman had been dead before his body had hit the ground. At least according to Micah who had watched the whole ordeal before destroying the cell phone to cover their tracks.
Micah
Another victim, he had committed suicide a few weeks ago. The stress and pressure having finally broken the camel's back. Molly had found him, slumped over his computer in a pool of his own blood. She still hadn't recovered from seeing her friend dead. It made it all the more important that he would change this wretched future.
He had no idea how yet, but would figure something out. The best way would probably be to meet with his younger self and guide him into not making the same mistakes as he did and they would stop Gabriel before he became a killer in the first place. Though they would have to be mindful of the butterfly effect, he had no desire that his ripples in time caused another apocalypse to happen. One that he couldn't predict.
They would just have to be careful.
Pushing himself up, he checked his surroundings one more time before touching his fingers to the right ear where the headset was positioned. The tiny computer activated upon scanning his fingerprint and he spoke quietly.
"Asterix to Vitalstatistix, I repeat Asterix to Vitalstatistix. Do you copy?"
"We copy Asterix."
"I have found Getafix and collected the magic potion. I repeat I have found Getafix and collected the magic potion."
"Roger Asterix. Obelix will meet you at the boars' hut. We will see you soon. Vitalstatistix out."
Deactivating the headset, Peter raised his gun. He had be too careful. Their plans were on the verge of coming to fruition. All their sacrifices, the suffering and the enduring, all would be worth it. As long as they managed to change the past, nothing could be as bad as this. A noise alerted him of something nearing his position. Pressing himself against a wall, he pulled a small mirror from one of his many pockets and used it to peer around the corner.
Shit!
A whole squadron of agents and he had only two clips of ammo left. Without the healing ability he would be an easy prey for them and the boars' hut was still nearly a mile away. He couldn't hope that Obelix would save him. So he would either have to outwit them or find a way around.
One thing was sure, he wouldn't be a sitting duck!
Using a small PDA he displayed a map of the surrounding area and cursed inwardly. The dampening machines were far closer than anticipated. There was no hope that he could, in an absolute case of emergency, ditch the meeting and travel back immediately. It seemed he would have to return even faster than anticipated. Clutching the small device he forced himself to remain calm, mistakes were deadly now.
Breathing in and out, he resolved that he would have to make a run for it. Playing a hero would only get him killed now. The nearest entrance to a sewer, which wasn't blocked by some debris was about half a mile away. A long distance but he hadn't trained for this day for months and all sacrifices and lost lives couldn't have been for naught. He wouldn't allow it.
Making sure that all agents weren't looking in his direction he threw a small pebble against a very unstable ruin. Like he desired, the construct started to rumble ominously before the first pieces crashed to the ground, covering the sound of his footsteps as he slipped away. He would make it, he had to.
Otherwise all hope was lost.
New York, 2006
He was back, he could tell.
The fabric scratching against his skin, the bare feet as he was forced to walk over the cold concrete. Yes he was in hell, he knew.
"Don't worry Peter, today there will be no new tests as our scientists are still evaluating the results of last months."
His fingers clenched into the fabric of the scrubs he was wearing and had it not been for the shackles that kept his arms immobile or the guard standing behind him with a taser, he would have decked the arrogant prig for the last sentence. How dare he refer to the torture they had him endure "results"! Nothing about the last session even remotely helped explain his ability or give them understanding in a way he could comprehend. Cutting him open would have offered more results...
They shouldn't be allowed to do that to him and call it all a duty in the name of science.
Nevertheless here he was, sitting on a small uncomfortable chair in a room that probably had been modeled after some interrogation room in a bad B flick. Walls with one way mirrors, pale white washed walls, a table and two chairs. Yep bad movie imitation. Though Peter couldn't even begin to understand why he was here. He had been good, followed all the requirements imposed on him since the law concerning specials took effect.
Hell he had been one of the few ones, who had registered himself on his own free will.
Of course, not all had taken that route. Sylar had been exceedingly clever and taken over the carnival. After assuring Peter that he would be good and keep in touch, all carnies and Sylar had vanished overnight. Months later he had received a package with a new compass inside and a small note inside.
Sadly that one had been destroyed during a raid inside his building for another special, his neighbor to be precise. Without any means to contact Sylar, he waited for a signal, for any sign off life as the living conditions for specials became more and more difficult. At first it had been light, DNA tests became mandatory at birth to determine if the children had the genes and therefore the potential to become a special. Then there were the fixed medical exams they had to undergo.
To find out more about their powers, yeah right! Like any of them believed that bullshit.
The last straw had been the registering they had been forced to undergo. Registered with name, address, personal data and ability. Depending on the nature of their ability, they even had to wear a colored bracelet that could in emergency situation be used to track an individual down. If Peter didn't know it better, he would say it was only one step away from old Nazi Germany, which had been crushed over 60 years ago for their inhumanity.
Man as an individual is a genius. But men in the mass form the headless monster, a great, brutish idiot that goes where prodded.
That was what they had become, monsters, Charlie Chaplin really had been intelligent. He had recognized what humanity was and voiced it quite eloquently. The thought of ending up on a lab table and being dissected send bolts of fear through his gut. Without Claire's power he would die and he had no desire to do that for a long time. Besides if they ever decided to dissect him, they would learn that Peter had lied to them about the nature of his ability and that could have consequences he didn't want to imagine.
"Peter, we found evidence that you once worked with a very dangerous special named Sylar. Is that correct?"
"He helped me save the people on the carnival."
Hearing the scribbling he just knew that the man had written notes for later perusal. Not that he gave a damn, there wasn't much of anything he cared about these days. His mother was still influential enough to have avoided most procedures. The Company affording her anonymity and she had almost immediately gone into hiding. And while he loathed to admit it, he felt hurt that she hadn't thought to inform him, her last son. Instead he was left to fend for himself in a world that didn't want him or the other specials.
"The carnival of Samuel Sullivan? An interesting thing, this carnival and the people. We have yet to find any traces of them. DO you happen to know why? Is Sylar with them?"
He shrugged at that, while it was very probable, Peter truly didn't know. Sylar was a wanderer and a lone wolf for most of the time. It was almost certain that he had left the others behind over the last months. Not that he would tell them that. A manhunt was the last thing Sylar needed and Peter would be the last person who would rat him out. Knowing the former serial killer, Sylar would return to his former ways just to freak humanity out.
"You can't find the carnival. Only specials can and that only under the right circumstances and I don't know them. They differ from person to person. As for Sylar, no idea. Could be, could not. You never know with him."
"So the tattoo of the compass on your arm won't lead us to the carnival?"
"It's a tattoo and my ability is empathy. I cannot find people."
And that was the truth, his tattoo didn't work anymore since Sylar had taken over leadership of the carnival. God only knows how often Peter had tried to make it work and failed. He didn't know how to find them and it made him glad because now his ignorance would protect others from his own fate.
Or Claire's... Claire, his niece, who was confined somewhere and undergoing tests to synthesize more meds from her blood.
She had been kidnapped on an open streets without anyone trying to help her. She was just a special after all. Bennet had been frantic and vanished soon after as well. Now he was under the top ten most wanted of the FBI, for terrorism and attacks on the government. Only this time around he didn't have the Company to back him up, he was on his own and doing his worst to make the government regret their actions. The only one more wanted, well that was Sylar.
Sylar the only confirmed special who was supposedly able to copy other specials' abilities and didn't that send Homeland security in a frenzy?
Peter hoped it did. Those bastards deserved everything they got. The Brave New World Sylar had referred to at the carnival had come true, just not like they had imagined at the time. It made him curse his niece and her naivete, had she truly thought that the other humans would quietly accept them?
She had, she'd believed in humanity and had just been as bitterly disappointed as he himself.
After confirming his ability, Hesam had stopped talking to him and Emma as well. Before the Brave New World happened, they had been friends. Nowadays they were colleagues working together to save human lives, nothing more nothing less. The rejection and many like it had been the reason that whole living districts were suddenly occupied by specials, separate from the humans.
Humanity had rejected them and they found solace in each other. Even if that meant living in ghettos.
"But you found it once, you couldn't do it again or don't you want to?"
"Can't! I want to, believe me I want to."
More notes were scribbled down and he could mumbles, indicating that words were being exchanged. Either they had just confirmed that he despised them just as much as they despised him or were surprised that he admitted to wanting to leave their society. He didn't care, they could all rot in hell. Sighing his shoulders slumped, making the chains clatter onto the ground.
"Very well Peter, that will be all questions for now. Our time's not over yet. So we will conduct another experiment. Last months we tested your ability to influence other persons' emotions. Something that you are according to our tests unable to do."
Peter refrained from rolling his eyes. He had told them that. The only thing he could do was understand emotions, barely. Meaning he knew what someone was feeling and even that had taken him months to accomplish. It was all that was left of his original ability which his father had stolen from him. Sometimes in his more cynical moments Peter was almost convinced that Arthur had known what was coming and had wanted to protect his son from the repercussions of his niece's foolishness. Of course it wasn't the truth, but...
"Today we'll test if your ability makes it possible to projects others' emotions on you."
Peter shrugged again, as if he cared what others were doing as long as it wasn't invasive. Besides he knew that it was impossible. Prior the theft, yes, then projecting something onto him would have been possible. It had been a problem, to separate the emotions he experienced, to tell them apart, but now years after the theft. Now projecting wasn't possible anymore. It had made him realize all the more just how much he had been influenced by those around him.
He had also discovered that he had his ability since he had been twelve or so, a miracle that it had taken nearly fifteen years before exhibited other abilities beside his own empathy. Perhaps his age had factored in it, or the abilities matured with the body? Though he remembered Sylar telling him that he had already understood complex mechanics at the age of six or so. It was probable different for every special.
A guard urged him to his feet none too gently and led him through the different corridors until they had reached one room Peter had come to hate. The first was a control room filled with different equipment, a few scientists were already inside. They watched him with an air of disdain, dislike and curiosity. He endured the stares without openly acknowledging them. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort.
Then he was pushed into the examination room.
It was this room that haunted him at night. Here where they conducted their experiments and tests on him. He could live with questions. Being a Petrelli had taught him lying well, even if he normally preferred not to. But the prodding, the touching and being treated like a guinea pig got to him. The small cell like room reminded him too distinctly of level 5 and his brief stay there. A cold concrete floor, tiled walls, metallic surfaces but instead of a bed there was the cot he was sitting on. In front of the cot were hooks. His chains had been fastened to them by the guards.
Without Mohinder's strength he had no chance of escape anymore.
"Experiment 00265 with subject pp12231979. Testing includes the subjects' ability to be overwhelmed by emotion of a foreign entity. Test commences at 1200 hours."
With that the researcher left the room, leaving him behind on the cot with his arms still shackled to the ground. The shackles were a security measure, introduced after another special had attacked the researchers and nearly killed him. Consequences had been drawn after the incident, the chains being the least important one.
Small zaps shook him briefly as the probes placed on his head were activated. It was a very uncomfortable feeling but he had gotten used to that too. Like they were getting used to everything humanity threw at them. Peter was pretty sure the the next law affecting them would introduce a curfew or something of that nature. The government did its damnedest to cage them.
They were afraid, it wasn't particularly difficult to see. Afraid of what they didn't understand and even more frightened when they understood what some of them were capable of. Like Matt Parkman who had gone into hiding with his wife and son after his colleagues had attempted to arrest him the moment his profile had been discovered and a warrant released for him. Peter didn't know where Parkman was, but he hoped he was safe. While they hadn't seen eye to eye where Sylar had been concerned, they still had been something like friends.
"Test subjects shows no change, a different set of emotions is now used."
The test had already begun? Peter hadn't noticed, he didn't feel any different from before the scientist had left the lab. Shrugging he counted the tiles of the ceiling to amuse himself. Thinking of his friends and former friends would only make him depressed again. Had Sylar already forgotten him or their nine years together? He didn't think so, the other wasn't the type to just forget about someone and considering their prior history it was even more unlikely.
It was more probable that Sylar, being wanted by the FBI, was simply laying low. He would have done the same given the choice. Having no real rights sucked and the government refused to introduce a party of specials into their midst, which meant they also had no one who was fighting for their rights. He doubted that they would get their own party anytime soon.
"Again no change. Setting of the test changes. Direct contact will be tested."
The door opened and a man walked in. Peter immediately knew he was angry, the emotion radiating off his body like the rays off the sun. He got the feeling that this part of the experiment wouldn't bode well for him and adjusted his body in subtle ways. The man was angry enough to attack him and he didn't want nor need new bruises.
Peter didn't say anything otherwise, it would be ignored anyway.
Strong fingers clamped onto his shoulder. Peter flinched briefly from the pain but didn't feel different. Though he avoided looking into the man's eyes. Something in them unsettled him, something dark and malicious, he had felt it from across the room. Now it was almost suffocating in its intensity but it wasn't the anger he was supposed to feel. Hoping the time passed quickly he let his body sink against the tiled wall behind him and waited. As he expected nothing happened.
"Subjects shows no change. Use emotion no. 06."
Something changed in the whole body language of the man and it unsettled him in ways he couldn't begin to describe. He had no idea what emotion six was but it wasn't anything good.
Another hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him forward until he was nearly chest to chest with the man and then Peter could identify the emotion the man now felt and promptly recoiled, doing everything in his power to push him away. Though given that his hands could barely be lifted above the height of his hips that didn't accomplish much.
They couldn't do that!
With his hands secured he relied on his legs to push the man off, again, to no avail. His body was pressed against the wall as the other straddled him. Peter really didn't need the physical confirmation to know what the man was feeling. The erection burned against his stomach, threatening to make him ill.
"Stop, you can't do that!"
His protests went ignored as he felt fingers carefully brush over the skin of his face, even as he turned away as far as he was able to. The knots on his scrubs were undone and fell down, exposing his chest and stomach. Fingers gripped his chin, forcing him to face the other. Peter felt sick, those eyes burned with a mixture of hate and lust. He tried to pull his face away without success before the man leaned closer.
With a satisfying crunch the man reeled backwards as Peter headbutted him right in the nose. Blood spurted from it and he used the moment to his advantage and bucked the other off him. Breathing heavy he knew that this would have consequences and he didn't give a damn, NO ONE touched him without his expressed permission, especially not for some mundane experiment.
"Subjects' heart rate is heightened as are the adrenaline levels. Subjects shows emotions differing from the norm. Experiment proceeds."
Peter gaped, staring at the glass front in quiet horror. They couldn't mean that, could they?
An unsuspected punch caught him off guard, slamming his head into the wall behind him. He tasted blood on his lips, had he bitten his tongue? There was no time to think more. Suddenly he was on his back, the rods of the cot digging into his skin as the chain keeping him captive were tightened, making it impossible to lift his upper body.
With frightening clarity Peter realized what was about to happen in the name of science.
It hurt, more than any law that had been imposed on them. Now he knew what they thought of specials. A lone tear dripped from his eye before he felt hands on his body, where he didn't want them. He was no telepath anymore but he remembered being one and how he had pushed the thoughts of others into the background. Using that technique he retreated into a far corner of his mind, unwilling to endure what was about to happen. His eyes glazed over and he didn't notice anymore as head was pulled forcefully backwards and his neck bared.